The Arrest
by opera13
Summary: Mr. Tumnus awaits his arrest for treason. A vignette of Narnia from an adult's point of view
1. Waiting

_They're coming._  
  
Tumnus heard the howls before he saw the pack. Maugrim might be the head of the Secret Police, but he didn't mind letting a victim know he was on his way, particularly when said victim couldn't escape.  
  
He had thought of it, of course. The Robin had even suggested it. _Go underground with the Dwarves.  
_  
But it wouldn't, couldn't work. The Queen knew what she was doing when she assembled a police force with such a gifted sense of smell.  
  
Tumnus set his teacup down, rattling the saucer slightly. He had put away his father's picture, a few other precious things. Maybe they would be left undisturbed. Not that it mattered, really. After he was taken to the Witch's House, he wouldn't be coming back.  
  
_But she'll be back. Lucy_, he thought. His lips pressed together slightly as he considered the worry on her face when she realized what had happened. She would blame herself, he was sure.  
  
Well, it was her fault, he supposed. But he wasn't bitter; he was glad, gladder than he'd been in a long time. _The prophecy..._  
  
He had spoken to her at length the last time she'd been here, only two days ago. He had asked her everything. What was her family like? Was she a Queen in her own world? Did she have any magic? And, of course, "Have you any brothers or sisters?"  
  
"Three," Lucy said. "Two brothers, Peter and Edmund, and my sister Susan." She frowned slightly. "They don't believe me."  
  
"About what?"  
  
"About visiting you here. About coming into Narnia at all. Peter and Susan finally let it drop a few days ago, but Ed's been really beastly." An ugly look flashed across her face for a moment, but was quickly replaced by mere sadness. "I wish they could meet you."  
  
"Perhaps...I do not understand, Lucy. Certainly it is unusual for humans to travel into Narnia. I do not believe it has happened in an age, despite the stories my grandfather Tumaeus used to tell me. But if there are other humans, your kindred, living to the west, why should they doubt your word that you have braved the Wild Woods?"  
  
"It's not...like that, really," Lucy said slowly. "It...England, I mean...It's not just a place you can walk to from here."  
  
"Eng Land?"  
  
"It's where the spare room with the wardrobe is," she explained.  
  
"Oh, yes, you have told me of those things."  
  
"Well, it's not a place you can get to by walking. It was by magic, I guess. And the others don't believe in magic. They think I'm lying."  
  
"I'm sorry, Lucy," he had answered, quietly. But his mind had only half been on the conversation.  
  
_Four, there are four of them._  
  
_The prophecy..._  
  
The howls grew louder. Soon now.  
  
Her siblings would believe her soon: he knew that. Aslan was working now, and they would be drawn into the World. Two Sons of Adam and Two Daughters of Eve. Tumnus had doubted Aslan many times in the past; doubted and denied him, and then sold his soul to the Witch for a few comforts. But whatever he had done would not change the fact that the children would come, would fill the four thrones, would find his house empty and ruined...  
  
_She will be worried about me when she finds out. Poor child. But Mr. Beaver will take care of it. He said he would set the Robin to watch until they arrived. They will be safe, and they will rule. Surely Aslan would not send four children so far and let them fail._  
  
"Lucy will be fine. She will be a Queen," he spoke aloud, trying to reassure himself.  
  
Tumnus thought back to his visit with Mr. Beaver, only a few hours earlier. Hours: Maugrim hadn't even bothered to come at once. He liked letting his prey worry.  
  
_Probably because he can't have any fun with them after they're turned into stone._  
  
The Robin had come as soon as word of the arrest reached him. It was difficult to keep secrets in the forest when one knew what to look for, and Tumnus had asked the Robin to listen, knowing he might be in trouble.  
  
"Tonight," the Robin had said. "The trees are whispering that She knows. They are saying something about a child, a human child. Is it true, Tumnus?"  
  
He had jerked his head once, then turned to do what he must before the officers arrived.  
  
Fauns might not be blessed with the speed of their four-footed cousins, the goats, but Tumnus could step speedily enough when times required it. And this was one of those rare times. Quickly, he had snatched up his scarf and umbrella, and Lucy's handkerchief from where it lay on the mantle, and trotted toward Beaversdam.  
  
He wished he were in slightly better shape as he reached the unfinished dam with a stitch in his side and rapped softly at the door, feeling the sound drift away on the wind, but afraid to tap more loudly so near to the listening trees.  
  
Nevertheless, the door opened, a little. Mrs. Beaver in her apron stared up at him, her mouth slightly open, then snapped it shut. "Dear," she called over her shoulder.  
  
"Who is it, Mrs. Beaver?" asked her husband. Tumnus heard his shuffling, unconcerned footsteps as he approached the door and his face came into view. Mr. Beaver blinked once, then again, before a frown settled on his face.  
  
"You are not welcome here." 


	2. Unwelcome Memories

Tumnus knew that he could expect a cheerless reception from the Beavers. He had long been held in disdain for his neutrality. Throughout the country there were small resistance cells, beasts working in a dozen small ways to undermine the Witch, to distribute food to the creatures who were ill-suited to the winter, to hide the ones who had angered her. Tumnus would have no part of it, and he told his neighbors so. "Better to forget about the past, forget about the prophecy, and get on with the business of living," he had told Mr. Beaver once, when both were younger and still on speaking terms.  
  
"If you could call it living, I might agree," his friend had replied.  
  
"I can," said Tumnus. "Why can't you? You've got your home, if it is a bit run down. But you'll set it to rights eventually. You've got fish in the river, and fire in the hearth."  
  
"Aye, _I_ do," Mr. Beaver had nodded. "And _you_ do. But what of the folk who can't live on fish? What of the Deer who have to paw through the frozen ground hoping for a bit of dead grass her magic may have missed? The Birds who have no berries? The Squirrels who wait instinctively for nuts that never grow to harvest?"  
  
Tumnus had laughed. "We've lived a hundred years without those things, if they ever existed to begin with. We'll manage just fine."  
  
That had ended that day's conversation. Just one of what would become many minor disagreements over the years. Tumnus watched as his friend slowly grew more distant, more secretive. The less Mr. Beaver said, the more the faun knew. His friend was involved in the resistance effort.  
  
_At least the Queen didn't pay me to be a spy for her_, Tumnus had thought, then. But then he wouldn't have done that. At least, he thought not. There was a great deal of difference in watching the woods for imaginary humans and turning on one's fellow Narnians.  
  
Despite his secrets, Mr. Beaver and Tumnus had continued their friendship for some time. But whenever they visited, the conversation would inevitably turn from the friendly news of neighbors to politics, as conversation so often does. Tumnus would often find some excuse to end the evening when the conversation went this way, and Mr. Beaver, ever gracious, rarely pressed him to continue.  
  
But there came one such visit when neither chose to end the talk.  
  
Tumnus had been commenting on the antics of Twidget the Squirrels latest brood:  
  
"Mischief actually made one of his sisters fall out of the nest with the pranks he plays," he laughed.  
  
Mr. Beaver had suddenly grown silent.  
  
"What?" Tumnus asked, noticing his friend's solemn expression.  
  
"Mischief was...punished today," Mr. Beaver said gravely. "Cauvric said he had made fun of the White Witch." Tumnus winced at the name of Maugrim's second-in-command. "One of the Trees bore witness."  
  
"She didn't...turn him into stone?" Tumnus asked, horrified.  
  
"No." Mr. Beaver jerked his head imperceptibly. "She was _merciful_."  
  
"Well, that's something." Tumnus said, sitting back and feeling relieved. "You see, we can exist peaceably under the Queen."  
  
"The _Witch_."  
  
Tumnus waved his hand. "A matter of opinion."  
  
"No," Mr.Beaver said, his expression changing as though he were truly seeing something about Tumnus for the first time. "No, it is not opinion, Tumnus. It is fact. There are some things which cannot be commuted or made relative, no matter how much we may wish it. The so-called Queen of Narnia is an entirely evil being, however convenient it may be for you to think otherwise."  
  
"That's a strong accusation, Mr. Beaver," Tumnus frowned into his teacup.  
  
"And a treasonous one, no doubt," his friend scoffed. "But I'm a Beast, and I'll speak the truth, as sure as if Aslan were in the room with me."  
  
"It is treason," Tumnus replied stiffly, "but I was referring to your comment about me. You think I am living with some sort of delusion? Or perhaps you merely accuse me of complacency?"  
  
"There is no middle ground on this, Tumnus. To sit and do nothing while evil roams at will is more than complacency. It is more than delusion. It is...wickedness."  
  
Tumnus froze. Mr. Beaver looked for a moment uncomfortable, as though he wished he could call back the words. But after a moment, his face hardened into a sort of determined resignation. He would not back down.  
  
"You always were as stubborn as a Boar," Tumnus said, rising. "If that is how you truly feel, then I shall not taint you home with my presence any longer."  
  
Mr. Beaver's throat worked, as though he longed to say something else but could not find the proper words.  
  
"I take my leave," Tumnus said, bowing with a touch of irony. He took up his umbrella and made his way to the door.  
  
Mr. Beaver followed, and for a moment Tumnus thought he might apologize, but he merely put his paw on the doorknob, blocking Tumnus' exit. "She cut off his tail," he said flatly. "The Witch...she cut off Mischief's tail."  
  
Tumnus felt his eyes go wide in horror. _A young squirrel with no way to counterbalance, nothing to help him jump from branch to branch. A Dumb predator will likely kill him before a few weeks have passed...  
_  
But Tumnus, too, was stubborn. "He...should not have spoken against the Queen," he said hoarsely.  
  
And the door had shut quietly behind him as he walked into the gently falling snow. 


	3. Mistrust

"You are not welcome here." 

The door started to close.

Tumnus didn't know what gave him the gall to do what he did next. He pushed against the door—hard— before the lock clicked into place, and let himself in. Mr. Beaver stared up at him, livid underneath his fur. "Get—out—of—my—dam!"

Tumnus closed the door with a soft click. "I'll go, but not yet. I need to talk to you. You must listen."

"Must? I must do no such thing. Get out of my house."

This would get him nowhere. Better to get to the point. "I'm to be arrested."

Mr. Beaver blinked, then waved his paw dismissively. "Not my concern. I don't know what you've done to earn the Witch's wrath, and I don't really care, but I'm sure you deserve what's..." He looked away in spite of himself. "...what's coming to you."

"I know that you and I haven't always seen eye to eye on things." Tumnus began. "And I admit my neutral views may have been misplaced..."

"Neutral!" Mr. Beaver hollered, shocking Tumnus, who had never heard the Beast raise his voice before.

Evidently, Mrs. Beaver had never heard it either. Her mouth fell open as she stared at her husband. He sighed. "Why don't you put on some tea, dear? For two. Our visitor won't be staying.

She walked toward the kitchen and Mr. Beaver lowered his voice. "Let us be frank, Tumnus. You are not neutral. You never have been. You've been working for the Witch for years. Only you thought I didn't know it."

Out in the open. Tumnus felt the color drain from his face. "How long have you known? All this time?"

"Only a few years. Now, I will ask again that you leave our home and not upset my wife further."

Tumnus mustered the last of his resolve. "I met a child. A Daughter or Eve. By the Lamppost. Sixteen days ago."

Mr. Beaver set his hand on a chair to steady himself. "If this is some kind of ploy so that I will confess to hoping that the Witch will someday be supplanted, don't you think I've said quite enough to condemn myself already? But if you need further words to repeat to your mistress, you may tell her that I look wholeheartedly toward that day."

"This is not about tricks, Actus," Tumnus said, for the first time using the Beaver's given name. There was a child in the woods, a girl. I invited her home to tea."

"Why?" asked Mr. Beaver, alarmed.

"Because the Queen...the Witch...told me to."

"What have you done?"

"Nothing: I let her go. That's why I'm being arrested. Tonight. In a few hours."

"Sit down," Mr. Beaver commanded. "Why would you do that? Let the human go?"

"I'm not certain," Tumnus replied. "She was not what I expected. She's only eight years old. Such a tiny little thing, and so trusting. She just took my arm and I led her to my cave. We talked for hours. I started to play my flute." He looked up. "You do remember what I can do with my flute?" Mr. Beaver nodded, no doubt remembering the many times Tumnus had lulled a schoolfellow to sleep, causing him to be late to class. "But I couldn't," he said. "I took her back to the Lamppost, and then she left."

Mr. Beaver considered this news. "So the Witch's spells are weakening. Her enchantments cutting Narnia off from the adjoining lands is apparently flawed. Humans can enter Narnia. Who know but that the Kings and Queens will come next?"

"Not next, Actus. Now. Lucy visited me again only yesterday. She—"

"Lucy?"

"Her name. She is one of the Royal Four, I have no doubt."

"A child of eight years?"

"The Lord Digory and Lady Polly were only children, if the stories can be believed," Tumnus reminded him. "I questioned Lucy closely when we last spoke. She is the youngest of four children. Two brothers and two sisters. They must be the ones we have waited for."

Mrs. Beaver entered, setting out three, not two china cups and clucking her tongue. "If you boys have finished yelling at each other, I'll join you now, shall I?"

Mr. Beaver nodded. "Mr. Tumnus was just saying that—"

"I heard. I told you that you should have built these walls thicker." Mr. Beaver turned back to Tumnus. "Well, this is hopeful news," said Mr. Beaver, "if we can believe it."

Tumnus nodded. The words stung, but he had earned them. Many times over.

"It still begs the question," Mr. Beaver continued, "of why you have come here. We cannot hide you for any length of time. The wolves will sniff you out in a matter of hours, unless the snowfall were particularly heavy. But it hasn't snowed in days."

"I didn't come for help for myself. I came to give you this." Tumnus reached into his pocket and drew out the precious handkerchief, handing it to Mr. Beaver reluctantly. The last thing of Lucy's he would ever see, he supposed.

"I don't understand," said Mr. Beaver.

"It's Lucy's handkerchief," Tumnus said. "She'll come back. She's visited twice already. She'll likely return soon, maybe even with her siblings. Someone must be there to lead them on. If they become lost in Narnia without a guide (for I do not doubt Lucy will seek to help me: she had a noble heart.), they may be found by the Witch before they can do they good they have been sent here to do."

Mr. Beaver stared at the handkerchief, with its small embroidered "L", as if searching for truth within its linen folds. He nodded once. "It will be seen to," he said quietly. "What about you?"

Tumnus breathed a sigh and rose to leave. "It doesn't matter about me."

"Sit down," Mrs. Beaver ordered. "You said yourself the Police will not come till tonight. Maugrim always plans his arrests after sunset. He and his kind like to sleep during the day. At least you can finish your tea like civilized Narnians. In fact, I may have a cookie or two to go with it." She shuffled out of the room.

"She seems pleasant," Tumnus said. An awkward pause. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you're wedding."

Mr. Beaver nodded sadly. "Will you not at least make an attempt to escape them?"

Tumnus shook his head. "We both know how pointless that would be. Anyway, if they don't find me at home, they may well follow my scent here, and the two of you would be implicated, and then where would we be? The children must have a guide."

Mr. Beaver frowned, but couldn't disagree. They finished their tea in silence, along with the cookies Mrs. Beaver had so generously spared for her condemned guest. When all was finished, Tumnus graciously thanked her and her husband. Mr. Beaver saw him to the door.

Tumnus stepped outside and began to walk away. The door had not closed, and he knew Mr. Beaver watched him. He paused for a moment and spoke quietly over his shoulder.

"Actus?"

"Yes?"

"I was wrong."


End file.
